


Too Close

by Dangercat90



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangercat90/pseuds/Dangercat90
Summary: Tensions reach a peak between you and the Mayor of Goodneighbor when a very human condition makes itself known. Fluff, eventually smut.Reader/OC/Vault Dweller & Hancock





	Too Close

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this awhile back and wanted to share it. People still love Hancock, right? Think of it as a reader/OC/vault dweller or insert-character situation. I'd like to continue or expand on it, do some different run-ins and situations with them and develop the relationship a bit.

Kimber grabbed the lapel of her companion’s jacket as he crouched to check on her. She'd been down on the ground for a minute, stooped low to rifle through the pockets of their latest trial. It wasn’t so much a challenge as it was an ambush; always easier and safer to take by surprise. The look of their combat armor and the farmer’s corpses around the old shack had given them away for what they were. Raiders.

  
“Hancock…. Ooh. I’m-” Her face scrunched up in a grimace while her hand rested on the chest of the marauder. The gold lighter she reached for was visible from the inside pocket of his dirty armor, just under her fingertips. Concerned, Hancock crouched to her level.

“What’s wrong sister, the heat finally getting to ya?” Scars made up his skin like a patchwork quilt. Kimber met his eyes for a moment while fighting to hold back a look of guilt at holding them up.

“I'm ok, I just need to sit down.” While clipped, the concern in her voice was palpable. Hancock stayed quiet as he hoisted her up by the hand and took over patting down the last raider.

Crouching against the shack she watched him silently. He always seemed to be able to tell when she wasn’t feeling well. It happened more often than either of them would have liked, but he’d yet to bring it up. A real gentleman. The elements seemed to have more of a drastic effect on her than the average civilian, even simple things like colds wrought havoc on her delicate system.

Movement caught her attention and Kimber jumped into action, hand going to her gun.

“Hey sexy, fancy a lay?” Grip in hand, she saw the ancient red jacket behind the body. The raider’s arm waved comically while Hancock tried to keep the head up with little success.

“Get out of there!” She scolded, resting her hands on her hips in mock scorn. Mission accomplished though, the grin was there.

“Ahh that got a smile. Alright, doll.” The older gentleman groaned while getting up. Hancock smacked the faded tricorn against his pants a few times to dislodge the dirt while he strode back to her.

“So where to? Going back to tell the folk we’re done? Getting awfully good at this. They should build us a statue. You know, show a little damn gratitude.” The grumble in his voice brought a nervous smile to her lips. His attitude belied a fear she’d held the last few days. Hancock was getting bored. She knew it was just a matter of time before he felt the ache in his bones for a real bed, for his bed and whatever company that entailed in Goodneighbor.

“Can we find someplace halfway decent to bed down for the night?” Kimber murmured halfheartedly. “I’m tired of worrying about getting my face chewed off by a wild dog while I sleep.”

Hancock recollected on the last few places they’d stayed. Last week the highlight was when they’d been caught in the path of a feral Yao Guai. Of course, the thing had decided to mull about for a few hours growling and making a fuss. Hancock had just enough time to get comfortable with her in his lap while they straddled the branch before the beast started snuffling around in the dark. He was fond of the way her head had lolled back on his shoulder when she fell asleep. So much in fact, that he didn’t wake her when the creature left. Having her lithe body between his legs and in his arms was something he'd thought of often. The ghost of a smile came to his lips at the memory.

“Yeah, uh. Hmm. What about that place we passed with the robot? Goodfeels? Don’t think he'd mind if we stayed." Rubbing his chin in thought he tried to recall any other habitable places they'd seen recently. Kimber arched her back and stretched with a yawn.

“That robot? Yeah, I don’t think he notices much of anything.” He looked at her with concern while they gathered their packs. This was definitely unusual.

“I think it was back this way” He murmured while grabbing the ruck from her shoulder. “I’ll take this, sister. You look tuckered out.” It was hardly a quarter past noon but she was already tired. The red-haired bombshell was usually up until well past dusk working on her scavenging projects; this was out of character for her.

Hancock puzzled over what could be bothering her while they trekked up the rocky terrain. It had long ago reclaimed any stubborn paths but they were using the spikes of the old towers and her pip-boy to navigate. Picking up a few hours in, the wind's sting had long been on her rosy cheeks by the time they entered the ramshackle camp.

“Alright now, which one you reckon' still has the best beds?” He asked rhetorically while dumping their bags next to the barn. The Sunshine Tiding's Co-Op was an old campground. What remained of it, anyway. Some wild crops grew around the place but aside from the ghoul corpses leftover from their first trip through, there wasn't much to take care of. They'd cleared it earlier in the morning and it was only a few hour walk from where they'd ended up with the raiders. They'd only ever backtracked when it started to get dark, or on the rare occasion a party member was injured. This whole situation didn't sit well with the Mayor.

Most cabins were in enough disrepair that Kimber snubbed her nose at them. Missing roofs, critters, or Professor Goodfeels' unique artwork of ‘found’ items were macabre enough to discourage habitation. The third they walked into looked almost pristine save for the bones and muck slumped at the foot of a broken kitchen chair. That was probably thanks to the large pallet of firewood stacked in front of the door. There were two twin beds separated by broken bookshelves and the tortured ruins of a table.

“This’ll do” Kimber said appreciatively. Hancock nodded in affirmation and jogged back to get the bags, fixing a suspicious glare on the meandering robot.  
She started rearranging the room and checking the quality of the sheets as he left. They were musty and moth-eaten, but untouched for some time. Vetoing the crumbling blanket and removing the top sheet was enough to placate her for now. Hopefully it would be a warm night. Hancock wouldn’t care either way- she’d seen him sleep drunk in a hovel enough times to consider it a second home.

Looking at the room with a sudden sense of disapproval the vault-dweller set to action moving the bookshelves and bed frames. The little twins slid across the old wood floor with a little bit of difficulty and no small amount of scratches. She'd gotten one bookshelf against the gritty wall single-handedly when Hancock walked back in.

“Did you know the- Oh.” He whistled in bewilderment. Setting the bags down the ghoul helped his companion in her struggle to get the two shelves against the wall.

“...There’s an outhouse out back.” He added in an unsure bid to gauge her mood. He didn’t mention the broken toilet tank or the many clinging webs and nettles, choosing instead to focus on the positives. Kimber sighed and opened their packs for the night. She seemed drained. Listless.

“Push those two together, would you?” With a nod toward the beds, she pulled out the shirt reserved for sleeping and began removing her patchwork armor. That still made him laugh sometimes, her 'sleepwear'. He was traveling with his own little princess.

 _‘What is she thinking?’_ Hancock couldn't help but wonder. He knew better than to question this seemingly good luck, maybe she wanted the beds for herself and he’d be banished to the floor. Wouldn’t be the first time, although it would be with her. They usually settled for roughly separate-but-equal arrangements. You get the warm blood-stained sleeping bag, I’ll get the sheet that doesn’t smell like someone died on it.

With the beds situated together, he turned around. She’d sat hunched over the table in the corner looking at some of their supplies. A can of water was already open and she was idly fingering some worn bottles. Her fingers curled into a ball while she laid her head on the table looking for all the world like a beat-down traveler.

“Hey sister, I know I’m hard on the eyes but I think you’re being dramatic” He put his hand on her shoulder expecting a chuckle, a smile, a jab at his pride. Instead, he got a low groan.

“HEY,” He rasped louder than intended, pushing her shoulders back against the chair's broken tines. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on! Are you sick again?” Her eyes fixed him with a stony glare before she looked away. Her skin was paler than normal and the circles under her eyes contrasted with her rosy wind-burned cheeks.

“Sis, it’s alright. Us drifters, we’re used to roughing it. I’ve told you, you ain’t gotta feel bad about what your body does," Taking on a more sensitive tone he reached to gently cup her cheek and turn her face to him.

"You’re gonna get sick, you’re gonna get injured, and I’m gonna be here to help take care of you.” Her brow had creased into a worried look while a small smile parted her lips.

“No… it’s not that.” She wasn’t happy but he knew her admission was true. What could it be then? A tiny whine froze him while she got up and wrapped her arms around his neck. _‘Kimber? Did you get shot and not say anything?! Are you fucking dying?'_ His thoughts were in a panic.

Aghast, Mason froze while the woman’s body pressed against his. He didn’t even try to resist putting a hand on the small of her back while the other pressed her head to his chest. She felt so small in his arms. Delicate. She’d lost weight since they met. The Commonwealth wasn't like where she was from. The thick walls around her silent bunker had protected her from everything.

Almost everything.

He smelled a hint of the day's musk on her. Dipping his head deeper into her hair there was something else. John wasn’t very attached to his olfactory senses, finding them to be unreliable after his transition. But there was an undeniably feminine aroma to his companion. He racked his brain trying to think of a time they’d been this close before. Once at his haunt in the Goodneighbor when they’d had to lean in at the bar to speak. The air was so permeated with smoke and booze he’d never had a chance at admiring her back then.

“Han…” Drawing him from his reprieve the strained voice tried again. “Ha- _ooh_. Hancock, _pleeease_. John?” Little moans slipped from her mouth punctuated by the rigid tensing of her body. Feeling her try to curl into herself Hancock picked her up and walked to the beds, setting her down gently. Removing her fisted hands from his jacket broke his heart in a small way but he perched on the edge of the bed to try and slip in a light pat-down to her body. It was just like her not to tell him she was hurt.  
Blowing harder outside the wind picked up intensity. It was still light out but a storm was building. The panes rattled as cold air slipped into the poorly insulated frame.

John drew a hand through her hair as he tried to ignore the stirring in his loins her tempered moans elicited. He knew they were from pain, and felt ashamed of his reaction. He looked at her cheeks. Her skin. It was reddened and burned from extended time outside giving her the appearance of a lasting blush.

“Hancock, I’m- sorry. _I’m sorry_.” Mumbling she rose to her elbows on the bed. Focusing intently on something in the corner she bumbled over the words, _“_ wil _-_ yolay _-wi'-me?”_ , before turning her big doe-eyes to him. Blue, and bashful. If he wasn’t mistaken there was even the shine of a few brimming tears.

“…What? Love, I can’t hear you.” John said as softly as he could. He chided himself at having to ask her to repeat it but there was something wrong. Something she was trying to tell him. He listened while her lips moved this time like his life depended on her fragile words.

“…Will. You. _Lay… with me_?” Her eyes were lidded. Shy, and cautiously looking away from him. At anything BUT him.

Rising to his feet a bit nervously Hancock knew this wasn’t a time to talk. She needed him. For what, he didn’t know yet. Maybe she didn’t either. But with a hammering heart, he stalked to the other side of the bed and laid down next to her. His fingers sought her hip and with the slightest touch, she was wriggling into him. There was a desperation in her movements and he was taken aback when her hand reached over his, pulling his arm around her stomach in a silent and un-refutable demand to be held. The pressure she applied was firm and he could still feel her body contort with small pained spasms as they settled in together.

Tiny sighs escaped her lips as her companion held her softly, only letting go to brush back her hair or rub her arm. _‘The last doc told me she couldn’t keep up like this forever. Her body just wasn’t as weathered, as adapted. That a time would come when she might just stop. What was it like where she came from, where there wasn’t any radiation? So little foulness in her blood?'_

Hancock was quiet. Troubled. She was keeping something from him.


End file.
